Destination: Arkansas

Well-traveled as I might consider myself, I know next to nothing about Arkansas.  I’ve never seen a PBS travel show about it.  I’ve never thought, “Oh, man!  Add it to the list!  I gotta’ get to Arkansas!”  Razorbacks and Hope: that’s the extent of my Arkansas trivia.  I’m not hating on Arkansas; it has just never made it onto my radar.  At all.

So it has been with some mirth that we’ve responded to inquiries about our holiday plans this week with a chipper, “We’re going to Arkansas!”  And with even more mirth we began to pile up the incoming brochures and travel guides.  They were ordered for us by my brother, who came up with the perfect home base for our Arkansas adventure: Devil’s Den.

There is actually more to recommend Devil’s Den that you might imagine, or more than I ever imagined, anyway, especially given the name.  There’s the Ozarks, with plentiful hiking, and river activities, and even the intriguing possibility of a zip-line adventure.  There’s also a nearby Civil War battlefield to visit, and somewhere in the vicinity are some presidential relics from the Clintons.

Of course, the biggest reason to visit Arkansas this week, is Texas.  It’s a 14 hour drive from my house to my brother’s - not an impossible distance, but certainly a challenging one for our two larger families.  It has been two years since I last saw my nephews and my niece is almost a year old without my having met her.  So we agreed to meet up half way, and Arkansas was the ticket.  If the only thing I get out of visiting Devil’s Den is a three-day-long game of Skip-bo with our combined 7 offspring, I will come home with glorious memories of Magnificent Arkansas.

And that could make me become a regular.

“Say of your brothers, ‘My people,’ and of your sisters, ‘My loved one.’ Hosea 2:1

I'm itching for a road trip.

Between the baby, the move, and financially preparing for me to quit my job, family vacationing has been off the table for the last couple years.  Granted, and my husband would be quick to point it out, we did travel with the kids each of the last two summers, to Arizona and to Wyoming, but both times it was on short notice for a memorial service.  We tried to make the most of the time off and family togetherness, but, in my mind, it really doesn’t qualify as a true “family vacation.”  We have thoroughly enjoyed a few weekend visits to neighboring cities, and I wouldn’t complain about Minneapolis, Chicago, or the Wisconsin Dells, but, again, these short, fun weekend trips were really more “getaways” than “vacations.”

Mostly, those occasions served to remind me how awesome it is to hit the open road with the whole family in tow.  I love those long carefree days of seeing new things together, listening to old school music on the radio, eating deviled ham sandwiches for lunch, and taking turns watching Star Wars movies in the back seat with the kids.  There’re KOA campgrounds calling my name, World’s Biggest Balls of stuff to be photographed and explored.  There’s national history to be learned in person, hotel pools to be cannonballed into, mountain paths to be hiked, and, I hope with all my heart, an ocean to be splashed in.  I don’t care whether we go east, west, or south; I just have that deep hankering to go.

It’s not entirely reasonable.  The baby’s still small.  The house isn’t unpacked or organized.  The summer is still months off.  It always costs more than you budget, someone inevitably spills, craps, or vomits in the back of the van.  At some point, your will to rough it breaks down and you spring for a two-room suite that gives you a locking door between yourselves and the kids.  Yes, I know all the limitations.  But the heart wants what the heart wants.  I long for a 2-4000 mile, 14-20 day adventure, together with my favorite people.  I think it’s road trips that make us American; it’s our patriotic duty to explore this vast and beautiful nation.  Are you buying this?  Because I really want to go.

You brought us here and gave us this land rich with milk and honey. Deuteronomy 26:9

I’m trying to give up the martyr-thing.

We saw a classic rerun of Raymond last night. It was the Christmas episode, where Ray uncovers Deborah’s martyr-complex by offering to watch the kids so she can go to a movie. She turns him down and he realizes that she can’t go to a movie, or she’ll have to quit telling people how she never gets to go to movies. Unfortunately, it’s one of the most hilarious scenes from the series, because it rings so true. It does to me, anyway. From what I see on Facebook statuses, I don’t think I’m the only one.

There is not a doubt in my mind that the entry of women into the workforce effectively doubled our load, possibly more than doubled it. Some of that is biological necessity. If my husband and I could gestate and lactate on a 50/50 basis, the last ten years of my life would have been substantially altered. I’d have gotten more sleep, that’s for sure! But I’d have missed out on some of the most amazing miracles reserved for my gender, as well. During those ten years, I’ve done my share of martyring. I often joked, while enjoying the blessing of having my infant daughters at work with me, that my husband should try it for just one day; he’d probably have had me quit my job that very night. Maybe so, maybe not, but giving up wine and sushi for 9 months, getting up in the middle of the night to nurse my babies, and scheduling staff meetings during nap time is, to a large degree, the stuff I do just because I’m a woman – because I am a mother, it comes with the choice to procreate. But the fact that we owned our front-loaders for five years before I bothered to show my husband where I keep the soap and how to run them is full-on martyring. There is no biological necessity to my running every load of laundry our family dirties.

I bemoaned to my sister once that it was disgusting to unravel dried out, sweaty dress socks that had been thoughtlessly thrown into the hamper inside-out and tangled. She looked at me sideways and said, “Then why don’t you hand them to your husband, mention that it is gross, and ask him to unravel them for you.” Duh. Of course, my husband had no idea that it was even a problem for me, because I was being a martyr and complaining about my load, instead of sharing it.

We went through a two-part personal process last year that really highlighted to me my own shortcomings in this area. First, we began talking about having a third child. There is no way I could consider taking on the biological necessities of another baby, if I continued to try to brave the burden of martyrdom. Then, we started a six-week devotional study that was supposed to help us simplify our lives. The opening self-assessment was a clear call for change, as well. It’s not easy to spot all my problem areas, but I’ve been working on it. The girls are now doing small things, like emptying the dishwasher, and I’m being more diligent about making sure they clean up their own rooms and playroom. My husband’s been pitching in at least once a week to prepare dinner for us and picking up other odds and ends chores, like loading the dishwasher now and then. My older daughter learned to vacuum this month, and is my biggest helper in switching out the laundry loads and putting the towels into the cupboard. Everyone, even my younger daughter, has been taking more initiative on things that I didn’t even ask for, like noticing when the dog needs to go out and filling her water dish.

Aside from the occasionally disgruntled child, who would rather watch Martha Speaks than unload the washer, everyone has been unimaginably amenable to sharing more of the load. There is still plenty for me to do, and sometimes I get impatient, overseeing a poorly done chore when I could just as easily step in and do it right. Overall, however, our house is becoming better organized and easier to manage, and I’m finding time for some of my own important pursuits – like blogging, gestating, cooking from scratch, and even sewing vintage aprons. Keep me in your prayers that I don’t backslide on this one…

Being a martyr is overrated. Even Jesus begged for a different outcome, and his suffering was to accomplish far more than a tidy house or stain removal.

Jesus walked on a little way. Then he knelt down on the ground and prayed, "Father, if it is possible, don't let this happen to me! Father, you can do anything. Don't make me suffer by having me drink from this cup. But do what you want, and not what I want." Mark 14:35-36

I’ve surrendered to Laz-E-Boy.

Anyone who knew me in 7th grade, when I couldn’t figure out how to pinch-roll my jeans and styling products were still a complete mystery to me, would probably be surprised to hear that I consider myself to have even a decent sense of taste and style. In fact, I think it’s more the limitations of budget and time, rather than the lack of inspiration or creativity, that gives Martha Stewart such an edge over me.

When we put our last house up for sale, a typically wide and low 1950’s ranch, our realtor got a kick out of doing the open houses, because a large proportion of our visitors commented on our furniture choices and suggested to him that the furniture really needed to go with the house. It wasn’t any sort of designer furniture, just classic, beautiful pieces that fit seamlessly with the character of the home. Our response was, of course, “make us an offer!” The buyer we did find apparently had their own, so we ended up moving our fabulous pieces with us and have been pleased that they also work well in a more recently constructed home.

One piece of furniture that has never met our strict standards of style and beauty is the recliner. Aside from the fact that such a contraption seems like an invitation to inactivity, the chair itself usually looks like it has chronically over-eaten potato chips and cheap beer. A recliner would look like a schlumping, deprived throw-back next to our sleek, button trimmed sectional. Even the leather couch from our Arts & Crafts dollhouse, with its smooth seams and riveted arm rests, would cry foul if it had to share living space with such a monstrosity.

But last month, in addition to the heartburn and leg cramps of pregnancy, I added a hacking night cough. My husband abandoned our room to sleep with the kids and I, unable to get comfortable, suggested that perhaps the time had come to find a suitable reclining chair. Maybe a trim, upholstered version would be inoffensive? After combing the city, we realized that my dream-chair would cost as much as we once paid for a whole dining room set and the next thing I knew, I was sending my husband craigslist adds and crossing my fingers for something without beer stains or bed bugs.

I’m about three weeks into recliner ownership. It matches absolutely nothing else in our house. It’s already almost ten years old, and there is a small snag in the leather in back. But it cost just $100, came from a nice home, and I will never again be without it. While my cough is gone, an uncomfortable barrage of stronger-than-normal-for-me Braxton Hicks contractions has forced me to rethink my usual level of activity. So in the last three weeks, I have found that I can accomplish almost anything from a recliner. Preparing Christmas cards, wrapping gifts, even writing this blog…it can all be done from a semi-upright, lumbar supported, feet elevated position in my sunny living room. It’s a great position from which to view all our lovelier home decorating choices. I’ll let you know if I start craving Cheetos and Keystone.

Sometimes I think my bed will comfort me or that my couch will stop my complaint. Job 7:13

I Don't Do My Best

When I was a kid, I spent a lot of my energy attempting to do everything to the best of my ability. And that is what I tell my own children: do your best. Your best is always good enough. So I guess I'm a bit of a hypocrite, in that, I slack. Not only do I slack, but lately, I've been coaching others in the art of slacking. It is a brilliant antidote to high blood pressure.

It started in college. Every semester, I'd take the B-path in the class that demanded the most. By underachieving in that class, it would free up hours of study each week, leaving me ample free time to hit the parties, join a club, or lay around my dorm room watching Quantum Leap. Don't tell my kids this, but straight A's are overrated. If that's all you get out of college, you miss out.

If I devoted myself to it, I'm sure I could have a lovely, immaculate home that would be the envy of all my friends. But I don't. Instead I figure that as long as you're drinking my wine, and playing my RockBand, you aren't going to complain about the pile of old mail on the kitchen counter or the toothpaste splatters on the bathroom mirror. So far, most guests are willing to return, and good riddance to the ones that weren't. I hope I'm contributing to my friends' housekeeping satisfaction; when they get back to their dust and cobweb-free homes, they probably feel like Martha Stewart.

I don't subscribe to the do-more, be-more, have-more lifestyle that Oprah and Self offer. I think fun, love, and contentment dwell in cutting loose those pressures and savoring "enough." I don't need to win Mother of the Year, gain public recognition in my profession; I don't need to be the prettiest, smartest, or even the nicest. I accomplished enough of that crap before the age of 18 to know it doesn't matter in the long run, or make you a better person. Now I prefer the lower-stress strategy of "do enough, well enough, to be able to look at yourself in the mirror at the end of the day." As long as my husband, my kids, and my Lord are content with me, I am, too.

Yet when I surveyed all that my hands had done and what I had toiled to achieve, everything was meaningless, a chasing after the wind; nothing was gained under the sun .Ecclesiastes 2:11

I Think I Can Do It All

Before you laugh at me and say, "No, you can't!" You have to realize that, most of the time, I get it done. Anytime I start to think there is too much on my plate, I remember commuting 3 hours each way to go to seminary in Kansas City, while working part-time at the church and having babies. It took 3 ½ years to get my M.A., but I did it. We did it. My husband and church family certainly get some of the credit, too. To use my husband's corporate lingo: I deliver on aggressive goals, especially when I am called.

I don't think I'm a yes-girl, though. I can generally say "no" to anyone but myself. I want to do it all. I'm called, passionate, and dedicated to being a wife and mother for my family. I'm also called, passionate, and dedicated to the ministry I serve. But then there are so many friends and adventures out there to savor! Time is my most treasured commodity, because if there is something I want to do, I will find a way to fit it in. My encouraging Facebook friends don't realize the rest of the story, when I post the conundrum, "do I take the kids to the beach or do laundry?" I've already chosen "beach" (or park, or bike ride) over "laundry" about a dozen times or it wouldn't be a question. If we weren't running out of undies, I'd already be at the beach.

We took this week off and made our usual plans. We were going to Kansas City for a weekend of roller coasters and visits with friends and family. We would come home for a day to reload, then drive up to Lake Okoboji to camp for a couple nights, stopping at a waterpark on the way home for one more day of summer fun.

Then I got word that my grandpa is in hospice. No one can guess what the time table will be, but we know that at some point, with short notice, we are going to be making a trip to Arizona to say good bye. Instead of cramming camping and waterparks in, we decided to save some money and get ahead on things, so that if we head out on short notice, it won't overwhelm our entire summer. Instead of our vision of great fun and photo-ops, we've spent the week sleeping in, getting the household chores caught up, and playing games with the kids. My husband keeps reminding me how pleasant it is to do nothing.

I'm already contemplating ways to squeeze in a night in a tent before another week goes by, but I'm adding it to my to-do list: schedule more time for nothing.

I can do everything through him who gives me strength. Philippians 4:13

I'm an Idolator and I Might Get Bored

Apparently comfort can be an idol, and I am at high risk for comfort-idolatry. This can lead to the sin of boredom. I don’t know how deadly this is, but I shall remain alert.

If you’re in a hurry, feel free to skip this two-paragraph aside regarding the work-ethic of pastors.

It is a common perception that pastors work only one day a week. I’m often asked, “What do you do the rest of the week?” Defending full-time ministry isn’t the purpose of my blog today, but I will say this: a passionate minister lives, breathes, and sleeps the ministry they serve. The visible hours they spend on services, office hours, etc., are but a shadow of the time they dedicate each week, seeking God and implementing the ministry they are called to.

So, just like everyone else, something we do the rest of the week is attend meetings. One that I attend five times a year is the preview committee for Iowa Religious Media Services. It’s a resource library for churches across the state, including everything from American Baptist to Methodist, Presbyterian, and Catholic churches. They parade new and controversial resources before us, so that we can determine whether they add value to the collection and fall within an acceptable range of theology and utility for our churches. As I explained to my girls: they ask me for my opinion and then pay me for it with pizza. That probably sounds great, but for every exciting resource, there are three that could only inspire Insomniacs.

Flipping through the companion piece to a resource, I found a list of personal motivators and their risks. The list included affirmation, material possessions, and so on. Affirmation could lead to pride, material things could lead to greed, and so on. I scanned the list for what motivation I potentially value more than God. I acknowledge that everything on the list holds some sway for all of us, but the one that caught my eye was “comfort.” It meant that you were motivated by finding ease, enjoyment, relaxation, and fun. Taken too far, it could lead to boredom. The description resonated with me, because ease, enjoyment, relaxation, and fun are definitely strong motivators for me!

I love the Lord, but living this frazzled, clunky human life is a close second, and I intentionally resist the pressure to overachieve. More than possessions, or affirmation, or art, or whatever else I can’t remember off the list, I love being together with my beloved ones; I love lying on a hammock in the sun; I love eating delicious food; I love seeing and trying new things. Like I said above, I live and breathe the ministry I’ve been called to, but if I could live out my devotion to Christ each morning on a sandy beach with an ice cold drink, building sandcastles with my kids, reading a Bible stained by saltwater spray, then hiking new peaks in the afternoon, I’d be there! Life is so chock-full of possibilities and inspirations, I cannot imagine boredom. There is always something to do! A flower to plant, a project to sew, a book to read, a person or place to visit…I could see my desire for comfort leading to bankruptcy, co-dependence, and an intolerably messy house, but boredom? Really?

My own resistance to this prognosis deepens my concern. Not only am I motivated by comfort, but I’m not really fighting it. The temptation to keep it light and enjoy things whenever possible, to suck the marrow from each passing moment, is something I’m going to battle for a long, long time. I guess I’ll let you know when I start feeling bored…will I know I’m bored when it happens?  I'm going to have to be alert.

What do you think?  Does what motivates you also, potentially, distract you? Is there a spiritual practice that can counter it?  What do you recommend?

If you are guided by the Spirit, you won't obey your selfish desires. God's Spirit makes us loving, happy, peaceful, patient, kind, good, faithful, gentle, and self-controlled. Galations 5:16, 22-23